


Wrong Time, Wrong Place

by Zoejoy24



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [2]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Gun Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:14:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22376293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoejoy24/pseuds/Zoejoy24
Summary: Malcolm's no stranger to late nights and dark sidewalks.  He’d spent countless hours wandering the streets surrounding his apartment on the nights when sleep wouldn’t come.  This time though, instead of escaping his nightmares he finds himself stuck in a real one, and he doesn't know if he'll be able to find a way out this time.
Relationships: Gil Arroyo & Malcolm Bright
Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1610707
Comments: 28
Kudos: 164
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for marvelmisha on tumblr who requested Malcolm and the Left for Dead Square.

Malcolm was no stranger to late nights and dark sidewalks. He’d spent countless hours wandering the streets surrounding his apartment on the nights when sleep wouldn’t come or when his night terrors woke him and the fear and adrenaline kept him from falling back to sleep. He’d put his head down, hands in his pockets as he walked and walked, trying to numb his brain with boredom or overwhelming physical exhaustion.

This night he hadn't been able to fall asleep in the first place, tossing and turning as distorted memories replayed over and over in his mind each time he closed his eyes.

He'd waited barely an hour before giving up and storming outside, turning to the right on a whim and beginning his aimless journey through the city streets, head down and shoulders hunched against the cold night air.

He wasn't paying attention--he didn't even know how far he'd gone or where he'd ended up--when he bumped into someone, hard. The impact surprised him, pulling him from his thoughts and back into the present.

"Hey man, you got a problem?" the person he’d bumped into demanded. He was a young man, barely out of his teens, skinny and angry.

"What? No, sorry, my fault, my bad," Malcolm replied, holding his hands up in surrender, hoping to placate the younger man and be one his way.

The kid had a companion, an older and much larger man, who stepped up menacingly, crowding in and forcing Malcolm to retreat until his back hit the building behind him. 

"Why don't you watch where you're going, fool?" he barked.

Malcolm ducked his head, looking up to meet their eyes, first one, then the other as he spoke in calm, even tones. "You're right, I wasn't watching. I was distracted, and I'm sorry. It was purely an accident." That they wanted a fight was clear, but he had no interest in giving them one. 

"Yeah, you say you're sorry, but I think you'd better show it. Why don't you pass over your wallet and we'll call it even?" the big man said, pulling his coat back to reveal a handgun shoved into his waistband.

Malcolm’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. That escalated quickly, he thought to himself. He took a steadying breath, shaking his head slightly as he explained, "I don't have my wallet. I don't even have my phone. I just stepped out for a quick stroll around the block."

"I think you're lying. We can always take it off your dead body, so hand it over," the man replied, wrapping his palm around gun, though he didn’t remove it from his waistband.

"Look, I really don't have it on me,” Malcolm repeated. “Do you want me to turn out my pockets, or pat me down? If you shoot me, it'll be for no good reason because I. Don't. Have it," he insisted, voice low but firm. 

"Give us the watch then!" the younger man exclaimed.

Malcolm grimaced. He should have taken the damn thing off before he went to bed. It had been a gift, and he hated to lose it. But it wasn’t worth getting shot over.

The bigger man pulled his gun, stepping forward so there was barely a foot between the gun and Malcolm’s stomach. The kid’s eyes grew wide as he looked up and down the street in a panic, but no one else was in sight. 

“Man, come on, just give us the watch,” he practically begged, bouncing nervously as he continued to look around wildly.

“Yeah, sure, you can have the watch, just relax,” Malcolm agreed, holding up his hand in demonstration as he started to take it off, fingers shaking slightly, still and numb from the cold. After what seemed like an eternity he pulled the band free and held it out in offering. 

The younger man stepped in quickly, reaching out with one hand to grab the watch, pushing the gun aside with the other. The older man jerked away in surprise at the sudden movement, and the gun went off with a loud bark of sound.

Malcolm jerked back as he felt a sudden, searing pain rip through his lower abdomen. His legs gave out and he slid to the ground with a moan, hands coming up to grasp at his stomach where the blood was soaking through his shirt and suit jacket.

"Fuck, fuck!" one of the men was yelling. "You shot him!"

"No, you shot him you idiot. What were you thinking, grabbing my gun?"

"What do we do?"

"Grab his feet, let's drag him over there." 

"What!?"

The words filtered through in a haze as Malcolm lay on the ground, eyes rolling wildly as he looked for someone, anyone to help.

"We're going to drag him into the alley and leave," the older man spoke.

"No-o, please. Help me," Malcolm finally managed to gasp out. 

They barely spared him a glance.

"We can't do that! We gotta at least call an ambulance," the younger man argued. 

"No way. We leave him and we get outta here. Now grab his feet."

Malcolm whimpered as he felt them grab his shoulders and ankles and lift him. He tried to struggle but it hurt. It hurt so fucking bad.

"Please, please don't," he begged, desperate, looking between the two men, wrapping his hand around the older man’s wrist. 

The kid looked torn, clearly unhappy with the idea of leaving him, but afraid to defy the older man.

"Here," the older man declared.

And they dropped him.

An all-encompassing pain ripped through Malcolm and he screamed. The pain continued to build, washing over him in waves until it was finally too much and he felt himself slip into merciful darkness.

***

He woke sometime in the early morning, the early light of dawn illuminating the world around him. The first thing he became aware of was that he felt… nothing. He wasn't in pain, and he thought for a moment he’d been dreaming, or hallucinating. He couldn't feel anything.

Anything except the cold.

He looked around, mind racing as he tried to get a grasp on reality. He was in an alley, far enough from the entrance that he was hidden from casual view. His body felt numb and he wasn’t shivering. As he tried to move his arms and legs the numbness began to fade as the blood flow was restored and it felt as if thousands of tiny needles were pricking his skin all at once.

Slowly, he lifted a numb hand into his line of sight, and whimpered when he saw it was covered in blood. Not a dream, then. Seeing the blood, proof of what had happened, brought the pain from his injury to the forefront of his mind. It was a deep, radiating throb centered low on his stomach, just above his hip bone. The memories came flooding back a moment later and his heart stuttered, ragged breaths coming quicker and quicker as he began to panic.

They'd left him there. He'd been shot, and they'd dragged him into this alley and left him to die. He tried to sit up, to look at the wound, but his body wouldn’t cooperate, and he didn’t know if it was due to weakness from loss of blood or the fact that he was freezing to death. The cold had likely saved his life by slowing the blood loss, but it would also likely kill him soon enough if he lay there much longer. 

He sobbed in desperation, closing his eyes as his mind replayed one thought over and over-- you’re going to die, you’re going to die, you’re finally going to die. But he didn't want to die, not like this. Malcolm let out a sigh that turned into a groan as he lifted his head, high enough that he could look out towards the street. No one was out yet, and even if he could yell they’d never hear him over the sound of the New York traffic. He called out anyways, his voice breaking, weak. No one responded. All he could do was wait and pray that someone would notice his blood, splattered across the concrete at the entrance to the alley.

He dropped his head--a little too hard--and more pain spiked through his skull, his vision blurring and he felt himself begin to pass out once more. He shook his head, blinking away the spots in his eyes, and something caught his attention. There, a few yards to the side and slightly behind him, was a small, black rectangle. A cell phone. One of the men--probably the kid--must have left it.

Another ragged sob escaped Malcolm’s lips, equal parts relief and resignation as he realized that help was there, just out of his reach. He’d have to move to get to it, and he wasn’t sure if he could.

Malcolm lay back once more, closing his eyes and taking several deep, calming breaths as he prepared to try to move. He rolled onto his uninjured side, grunting with the effort, catching himself with one hand and trying to push himself up onto his knees. His arm shook with the effort and he quickly collapsed back to the ground with a cry. He tried again after a moment, and slowly, painfully began to crawl forward, clenching his teeth hard against the pain each movement brought and forcing himself to stay focused on getting to the phone. ‘You can rest when you’re dead’ his subconscious supplied unhelpfully. That may be sooner than you think, he thought darkly.

Finally, his fingers closed around the phone and he let out a weak cry of triumph. His relief quickly gave way to despair as the phone screen remained black despite his attempt to turn it on. “No, no-o come on!” he moaned as he pressed down on the power button once more. Finally the screen lit up and Malcolm nearly started crying as it powered on. It seemed to take years for the phone to power on. As soon as it did he swiped to the emergency call option and dialled 911. 

As he lay still once more waiting for the operator to pick up he realized he was bleeding again. He pressed his free hand against the would and felt the warmth of the blood as it began to spread across his fingers once more. His struggle to reach the phone had most certainly reopened the wound. He wasn’t sure how much blood he’d already lost, but he knew he couldn’t afford to lose much more.

The operator finally picked and Malcolm let out a desperate sob when he heard her voice. “I need...help,” he mumbled, voice weak. “I’m in… the alley. I don’t know...don’t know where. But there’s blood. There’s blood on the sidewalk,” he tried to explain, praying they could get his exact location from the phone. The woman on the other line was talking, asking questions but he couldn’t understand them, could barely hear her. “Please hurry, please hurry,” he whispered over and over as his grip on the phone went slack. It slipped to the ground as his body went limp and darkness overtook him once more.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gil tries hard not to assume the worst possible outcome when it comes to reasons why Bright isn't answering his phone.
> 
> He could have saved himself the trouble because this time that bad feeling in his gut was right.

“Has anyone heard from Bright?” Gil groused as he arrived on site at their latest crime scene and saw that the kid wasn’t there yet. It was obscenely early in the morning, a chill still hanging in the air, and his damned profiler wasn’t answering his phone.

“Nope.” “Nothing,” Dani and JT both replied simultaneously from where they stood by JT’s car, hunched over their coffee cups.

“We finally get a case that’s right up his alley and he can’t bother to answer the phone? Stay here, start processing the scene with CSU. I’m going to go swing by his place and pick him up, I’ll be back within the hour,” Gil instructed, turning around and heading back towards his car.

As Gil drove towards Bright’s apartment his mind began to supply him with a constant stream of explanations for why the kid wasn’t picking up his phone. They ranged from the mundane--Bright’s phone had died in the night and he didn’t realize it--to the extreme--the kid had strangled himself in his sleep with those damned restraints. Despite reassuring himself again and again that it was probably nothing and that Malcolm was fine, Gil was on edge as he made his final turn onto Malcolm’s street.

He was immediately greeted by the sight of two squad cars and an ambulance parked next to an alley, and his stomach dropped. He knew--somehow, he knew--that whatever was going on, Bright was involved.

Gil pulled up next to one of the squad cars and got out, hurrying over to the scene and scanning for any signs of what had happened, or for a body. One of the officers saw him approaching and waved him over.

“Lieutenant Arroyo, what are you doing here? This isn’t usually your thing.”

“I was just passing by, actually, and had a gut feeling. Can you tell me what happened?”

“Some rich guy got shot and nearly froze to death,” the cop said. As he spoke two paramedics emerged from the alley pushing a gurney. Whoever was on it was bundled in a thick ambulance blanket that obscured their features from Gil’s view. He hurried over, hoping that his hunch was wrong and that Macolm wasn’t the one lying on the stretcher. 

“Lieutenant, everything alright?” one of the paramedics called out when they saw him approaching.

“I hope so,” he muttered, but even as he did he came close enough to make out the victim’s face, and his face fell. Despite the oxygen mask obscuring most of his features it was clearly Malcolm. His eyes were closed and he was deathly pale, which made the few streaks of blood on his forehead stand out even more starkly.

“You know this guy, Lieutenant?” the medic asked. “He didn’t have any ID on him.”

“Yeah, he’s my consultant, name’s Malcolm Bright. Damn it!” Gil exclaimed, running a hand over his face. “Is he-- what’s his condition?” 

“He’s lost a lot of blood, and his body temperature is dangerously low. I’m surprised he made it through the night to be honest. If we can keep him stable, get him enough blood and warmed up, he just might pull through. It may be touch and go for a while though,” the medic replied, working as she talked, helping to slide the gurney into the ambulance. “We’re taking him to Lincoln Hospital.”

Gil nodded dumbly, processing the news that his surrogate son had been shot the night before and was currently on the verge of death.

What the hell happened? he wondered to himself, turning away from the paramedics and seeking out the nearest officer, repeating the question aloud.

“Looks like a mugging gone wrong. He was shot sometime last night. Emergency services got a call a little while ago, someone asking for help. Took a minute to track down his location from the phone data. He was in pretty bad shape when we got here.”

Gil shook his head in frustration, a hundred more questions running through his mind. The ambulance doors slammed shut and the sirens began to wail as it drove away, the noise pulling Gil from his thoughts. His questions could wait. He’d get the answers from Malcolm when he woke up. If he woke up.

Gil hurried back to his car, pulling out his phone and sending a quick text to JT and Dani-- Something came up. Keep working the crime scene. Let me know when you’re finished.

He knew they’d be angry at him for not telling them what had happened immediately, but they had work to do. There wasn’t much he could tell them at this point anyways.

He pulled away from the scene and headed towards the hospital, calling Jessica Whitly as he drove. JT and Dani would forgive him for waiting. She would not. Jessica didn’t answer at first and Gil realized she may not have even woken up yet, but finally she answered.

“Gil, what’s happened?” Jessica asked in lieu of a greeting.

“Jess, I don’t have any details, but I thought you should know that Malcolm’s been injured. It happened last night-”

“Been hurt? How? And what do you mean last night? Why are you just now telling me?” Jessica interrupted, shock and anger clear in her voice.

“Jessica!” Gil said, loud and firm, but not harsh. “I really don’t know anything. It looks like a mugging. He’s alive, but-” He heard her gasp at the word ‘but.’ “He’s in bad shape. They’re taking him to Lincoln now, and I’m headed there, too.”

“Gil, is he… is my boy going to die?” Jessica asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Gil sighed. “He’s strong, Jess. A fighter. He’s held on this long, and he’s getting medical attention.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Jessica said.

“I don’t think I can, Jess. Not yet. I’m sorry.”

She sobbed. “I’m coming to the hospital right now. I need to be there.”

“I know, Jess. I’ll see you there,” Gil replied, ending the call before slamming a hand against the steering wheel in frustration.

“Hang in there, kid. Hang in there,” he whispered as he drove, tears filling his eyes and falling silently down his cheeks as he begged over and over for Malcolm to stay alive.

***

Jessica arrived shortly after he did, and she looked distraught. Gil had known her for a long time and could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen her look anything but perfectly put together. This was one of those times. She’d clearly left her house immediately, dispensing with make-up and hairstyling. He wasn’t sure if she owned casual clothes, but the outfit she wore--simple slacks and a blouse--was the closest thing to it he’d ever seen her in.

She was holding herself together, but only just, and when she saw him her shoulders dropped and her face started to crumble, but she pulled herself together, straightening her back, head held high.

“Gil, where is he? What’s going on?” she asked immediately. 

“He’s in the ICU. They’re working on getting him stable, that’s all I know. Come on, let’s sit down,” he urged. 

Jessica agreed numbly, and he led her to a chair with a hand on her elbow. She sat, dropping her head into her hands.

“I don’t understand,” she whispered. “What happened?”

“I don’t know any details. He was shot, the officers on site suspect it was a mugging. It happened last night sometime, which means he lost a lot of blood, and was out in the cold for a long time.”

“No one saw anything? No one called for help? They just left him there to die?” Jessica exclaimed, head snapping up, eyes flashing with fury.

“I know, Jess. I know. I can’t believe it either. That of all things, this would happen.”

Jessica didn’t respond, and they sat in silence for a long time, each lost in their own thoughts as they waited on word of Malcolm’s condition.

Nearly two hours had passed when a doctor appeared, calling for the family of Malcolm Bright.

Gil and Jessica both rose and the doctor joined them, beckoning for them to sit.

“Malcolm has been stabilized, for now, but we still don’t know the full extent of his injuries or how the prolonged exposure to the cold will affect his body in its weakened state,” the doctor explained without preamble. “We’ll need to operate on the GSW, but we want to ensure that his body is strong enough to handle the surgery first. We’ve stopped any additional bleeding, and there doesn’t seem to be any bleeding internally, but we won’t know the full extent of the damage done until we can operate.”

“How long will that be?” Jessica asked.

“We’d like to wait at least another hour or two. As long as his condition doesn’t worsen, he should be okay until then. He’s lucky, there’s little to no damage from frostbite, and from what we can tell the GSW was a through and through which likely means minimal internal damage. He’s strong, to have made it through the night. Given the information available to me, I have no reason to believe that he won’t make a full recovery.”

Jessica let out a sigh of relief, her whole body collapsing in on itself as she released the tension that had been building as they waited. Gil nodded, his throat suddenly tight as he found himself close to tears once more. “Thank you,” he managed to say.

“Can I see him?” Jessica asked, eyes sparking hopefully. “Please, I’m his mother. I need to see my baby.”  
The doctor frowned, but nodded. “Yes, you can see him. He’s unconscious and likely to remain that way for sometime. But as long as you’re not in the way, there’s no reason why you can’t wait with him till we bring him to surgery.”

“Oh, thank you!” Jessica exclaimed, rising quickly to her feet. She glanced at Gil, but he shook his head.

“Go on, Jess. I need to get in touch with my team, see how the case is going. Just keep me updated, please?”

She nodded, pressing her hand to his shoulder before following the doctor towards the elevators. 

Gil sighed, leaning back in his chair, closing his eyes for a moment to gather his thoughts before calling JT.

***

Malcolm was unconscious for two days. The doctor’s were able to perform surgery on the gunshot wound as planned and found that no irreparable damage had been done. They remained optimistic that he would be able to make a full recovery, although they couldn’t know for sure until he woke up.

JT and Dani had been upset when Gil finally told them what had happened, but as the wait for Malcolm to regain consciousness stretched on into the next day, they realized knowing sooner would only have made things worse. They still had a case to work and it was hard not to be distracted as they waited for word on Malcolm’s condition.

Someone was always at the hospital. Usually it was Jessica or Ainsley, though Gil checked in regularly and, late into the second day he insisted that Jessica go home to shower and rest. He was the only one there when Malcolm finally woke up.

Gil was sitting next to Malcolm’s bed, leaning back in his chair, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest. It was hypnotic, in a way, the steady movement and the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor threatening to lull him to sleep. 

At first there were just little movements, Malcolm’s fingers twitching, his head shifting on the pillow. Gil barely noticed them. Then his eyelids started to flutter and Gil shot to his feet, hurrying to the door to call for a nurse before returning to Malcolm’s side. He gently grabbed Malcolm’s hand, watching for any sign that he was going to panic or startle in any way as he woke.

“Bright? Bright? Hey kid, it's time to wake up,” Gil said quietly, reaching out to push loose strands of hair from Malcolm’s face. Malcolm turned his head into the touch, eyes opening once more and slowly focusing on Gil.

Gil smiled, cupping Malcolm’s cheek. “There you are, Bright. You’re okay.”

A nurse came in, and Gil sat back, giving her room to work. Malcolm began looking around the room, eyebrows knitting together in confusion, his chest rising and falling at a faster pace than it had before. 

Gil took his hand once more, hoping to keep him calm. “Malcolm, you’re okay. You’re in the hospital, alright?” 

“Mr. Bright,” the nurse interjected, drawing his attention to her as she bent down to meet his eyes. “How are you feeling? Are you in any pain?” she asked as she removed his oxygen mask so he could respond. 

“I don’t think so. I can’t feel anything,” Malcolm replied softly. 

“That’s alright. The doctor will be in soon to check on you and ask you some more questions, okay? Can you try to stay awake for me till then?”

Malcolm nodded, licking his lips. “Water?” he whispered.

“Of course. Drink it slowly,” the nurse instructed as she held up a cup and straw for him.

“Can you try to keep him awake?” she asked Gil softly once Malcolm had finished drinking. 

Gil nodded, happy to help if it meant they didn’t kick him out.

“Gil, wha- wha’ happened?” Malcolm mumbled once the nurse had gone. He looked confused, forehead creased, eyes unfocused as he struggled to remember.

“I was hoping you could tell me, kid. You were shot, two days ago. Do you remember that?” 

“Shot? Oh. I’ve never been shot before,” Malcolm mused, his tone light and curious, making Gil wonder how many drugs he was doped up on.

Malcolm continued, “I remember… they wanted. They wanted my wallet, but I didn’t have it. But they took my watch. I don’t-- why’d he shoot me? I gave them the watch,” he said, slowly but clearly, voice gaining strength as he spoke. 

“I don’t know, kid. We don’t have any suspects yet. We’ve been waiting on you for that.” There’d been no witnesses, and though CSU had found the bullet it had yet to lead them to a suspect.

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry,” Malcolm mumbled.

“Hey, there’s no need to apologize. I’m just glad you’re awake now,” Gil assured him, resting a hand on his shoulder, voice catching as he spoke.

Malcolm frowned. “Was it bad?”

“You were out there all night, kid. You lost a lot of blood, and your body temperature was dangerously low. Its--you got lucky. Or you’re just one stubborn son of a bitch,” Gil joked.

Malcolm smiled, though his eyes were starting to close.

“Hang out kid, you gotta stay awake for me now,” Gil pressed, shaking him lightly.

“Yeah, okay. I’m awake,” Malcolm muttered, forcing his eyes open once more. He focused blearily on Gil’s face, reaching up to rest his hand on top of the one Gil had placed on his shoulder. “Thanks, Gil. For being here. For always being there,” Malcolm said.

It wasn’t often that Malcolm expressed himself so openly, and in fact the last time had also been the result of Malcolm being high on drugs. Gil smiled softly at the memory, and at the open, caring look on Malcolm’s face as he spoke. “Of course, kid. Though your mother’s going to kill me when she finds out you woke up while she was gone.”

Malcolm grinned, shaking his head. “She’ll understand. You helped us so much. Always have. When mom couldn’t cope. When I needed to get out of the house. You were there. And Jackie. You saved my life. Both of you, in more ways than one.”

Gil frowned, tilting his head slightly in confusion, unsure how to respond. Malcolm kept talking.

“I was so scared, for so long. And then I was angry, and I wanted. I wanted to die. I thought it would be easier. But you were there, and you taught me how to be a good person. So, thank you.”

Gil felt tears forming in the corners of his eyes. He’d cried more in the past two days than he had since Jackie had died. “I owed you, kid,” he replied. 

The doctor came in, cutting off any further conversation. Gil excused himself, confident that Malcolm would be alright without him there and stepped into the waiting area to start making phone calls and letting Jessica and the team know that Malcolm was awake.

They’d all be relieved, and ask when they could see him. He’d likely continue to sleep most of the time for the next few days, depending on how well the drugs they gave him staved off his nightmares. Eventually he’d get stir crazy and insist on leaving as soon as possible, and they--his family, all of them--would be there to support him and help him recover. 

Because as much as he needed them, they needed him, too.

**Author's Note:**

> So I do have a second part in mind and I’m willing to write it and post it as a follow up if people want. But I thought for now that it would be fun to just leave things here and let the reader decide how they think things turn out for Malcolm.


End file.
